Wholock Randomness
by IzzyBells
Summary: Just an idea I came up with. Sherlock meets a Time Lord...but not the Doctor. No, he meets a woman who calls herself 'the Captain.' And for some reason, her TARDIS is stuck as a letter box. No idea what I'm going to do with this, so for now I'm leaving it marked as incomplete. T for swearing to be safe.


Yooo! So I had this idea for a wholock thing, um...not sure if it's going to be any good. A friend of mine read it and told me to post it, so I'm really just following her advice here. Anyway, I hope you get past the weirdness and randomness and enjoy it?

Update: A lovely reviewer notified me that the red letter boxes I'm talking about are called post boxes. Thank you. My apologies, not my fault I'm American and uncultured. I live in 21st century America. Of course I'm not gonna know shit. Sorry about that. Anyway, carry on. Enjoy!

* * *

A whirring noise sounded in the street, snapping Sherlock Holmes out of his thoughts. He got up from the couch and raced to the window, pulled back the curtain, and looked down into the pitch black London night. That was odd...he was sure he had heard the sound of the peculiar blue box, but...this was a red post box. The kind on street corners that people dropped their mail into to be sent off to the intended recipient. Still, Sherlock's curiosity was peaked. He stuffed his feet in his shoes and bolted down the stairs and out the door, barely taking the time to put his coat on over his dressing gown.

The door on the side of the post box opened, and a young woman's head poked out. Now wait a minute. The Doctor was supposed to be a man.

"Now really," she mumbled to herself. "A post box? A post box!? Are you kidding me? Why not a telephone box, why a post box?" She sighed heavily. "Well, can't change it now."

And the woman squeezed out of the post box opening. As soon as she shut the door behind her, she straightened up and Sherlock got a better look at her. She had on a black shirt with the long sleeves pushed up to her elbows and blue skinny jeans. Her shoes appeared to be Spiderman Converse, although it was hard to tell in the dark. Her nose was straight and kind of large; not quite the small upturned nose one expected on a woman. Her hair seemed to be dark and curly, but the exact color was impossible to make out due to the absence of any substantial light source. These traits, along with her ivory skin, dark eyes, and lean figure made her an overall attractive individual-not that Sherlock cared.

Then she noticed Sherlock standing there, just outside his door.

"Excuse me, erm, what year is this? Funny question, I know, but I've just been inside a post box so who can blame me really?" she asked.

"2014," he answered.

"Well. That isn't where I intended to end up."

"Pardon my asking, but what do you mean, exactly?" He was really curious now.

"Oh. Well you see...oh, I might as well show you. Inside you go then, come on," she replied, opening the door again and ducking through the opening.

Sherlock looked back at the window. He looked at the red post box. Oh, what the hell. He walked over to the box and peered through the opening before practically crawling inside. Once inside, the consulting detective stood and gasped. Not something he did every day, gasping.

"Are you like the elusive Doctor?" he asked, gazing around the ship.

"What, you mean am I a Time Lord? I'm a Time Lady."

"What is your name, then?"

"The Captain, at your service," she answered. "So. Sherlock Holmes. Anywhere you want to go? It's a time machine you know. We could go anywhere and be back with only a minute spent."

"Yes, as the Doctor said."

"Wait." She froze. "The Doctor. You've mentioned him twice now. Have you seem him? Do you know where he is? How did he survive...no matter, he's alive."

"What interest do you have in the Doctor?" Sherlock questioned.

"We are family," answered the Captain. "I thought everyone died. I was alone, Mr. Holmes. My parents, my brother, the Doctor, and my children, dead. Now you tell me the Doctor is alive."

"You are brother and sister?"

"No, what makes think that?"

"You said...never mind."

"Good. Now. Moving on to more trivial matters. Where, Mr. Holmes, shall we go?"

"The future?"

"When?"

"The past?"

"Who?"

"The present?"

"Where?"

She smiled then. "I know exactly where to take you!" And then she began running around the center console, flipping switches and pressing buttons. "Do me a favor, hold that lever down," she called across the circle, tilting her head to be seen around the central column.

Sherlock looked down at the multitude of unorganized buttons and things, all of them unlabeled. "Which?"

"That red one."

Sherlock pulled the lever, and was surprised at how much resistance he felt. He had to use most of his body weight as leverage. The column, glowing a calm green before, now began pulsing and making the classic whirring noise. So this was the place the TARDIS was powered. What kind of "gas" did it take? Extraterrestrial coal? Some other kind of unearthly fossil feul? Was it electric?

"I'm sure you're trying to figure out how she works," the Captain commented. "She's living. The heart of the TARDIS is inside this console. She translates any and all alien language and gives us breathable air and a protective force field. Ah, here we are!" she exclaimed as the whirring stopped and the light calmed.

The Captain gave Sherlock a monstrous grin and ran for the door. As she opened it, it clattered to the ground outside. The opening was still quite small and low to the ground.

"I hope no one heard that," she muttered, climbing out. Sherlock followed, and as he stood, he noticed she was staring at the TARDIS with her arms crossed. "Aw. Still a post box! The chameleon circuit must have be fried. I'll have to fix that. Oh!" And now she seemed to realize Sherlock was standing there. "Welcome to late 1800s London. We're just in time for the first release of A Study In Scarlet!"

With another wild grin, the woman took off running. Sherlock frowned at her rashness. She doesn't fit in here. For one, the Time Lady was wearing jeans and a tight-fitting shirt. And sneakers. For another, she was too hyper. No lady of this era would go running through the streets like that. Sherlock ran after her anyway. He stopped in front of a bookstore window, just behind her.

"Your choice of clothing for this expedition was not very wise," he muttered.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, whatever. Look!" And he looked. Of course he looked. "Just in there, that's Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. Of course, he may or may not be a sir at this point. I can't remember. Anyway, he's in the middle of a book signing!" The Captain skipped away from the window and continued on down the street. "Ah, A Study In Scarlet. The first mystery book I ever read. Have you read any of his stuff?"

"Never heard of the author."

"What? Hm. Pity. Great reads. The deductions are so-"

"Tell me. In A Study In Scarlet, was it a murder?"

"Yes?"

"The victim?"

"A woman, found in an abandoned house, something scratched on the wall, German for revenge."

"And the murderer?"

"Ohhhhh shiiiiitt...okay maybe this wasn't a good idea COME ON LET'S GO!"

And she ran off again. Even though he would love to stay and chat with this Arthur Conan Doyle guy, Sherlock did not want to be stranded in the 1800s. So, naturally, he ran after her. Again. When he caught up to her, the Captain was already crawling into her TARDIS.

* * *

Oh boy. Let's hope that didn't suck to badly. What do you think I should do with this? Continue it somehow? Leave it as a one-shot? Take it down and delete it from my computer? Tell me in a review; leave suggestions for what I should do with this.


End file.
